a fashionable condition


You and the team climb into the jet, getting in without a word. The ride back to…wherever you’re going, takes hours, but no-one says a word. You all sit in silence, none of you knowing what to say.

When the jet finally lands, you all emerge from within, and have to squint against the sun, and are overwhelmed by humidity. Somewhere tropical…

“Welcome to Wakanda.” You open your eyes, raising a hand to shield them from the sun. It’s T’Challa. The jet landed at a huge compound, and you can see statues of panthers dotted around. T’Challa’s headquarters, obviously.

That night is a quiet affair. You all shower and have dinner in your own rooms, and a worker tells you that there’ll be a meeting at noon the next day, to give everyone a chance to rest and have a good night’s sleep. You plan to take advantage of that fact…

You’re done. You’re done with it all. The Avengers, saving the world, your damned powers… You can’t do it anymore. The Sokovia Accords had showed you that the world doesn’t want the Avengers anymore. 

You set your alarm for 5am, and pack a bag. When the morning comes, you leap out of bed, change your clothes, and grab your bag. You successfully get to a back entrance for the compound - using your invisibility powers to avoid being seen - but have to stop when you’re about to leave.

Steve is standing in front of the back exit, hands in his pockets, facing towards you.

“I know you’re there, Y/N,” he says gently. “Come on. Let me see you.”

You sigh and show yourself. Steve nods sadly, but you speak anyway. “I have to go, Steve. I’m sorry.”


You shrug, even as tears fill your eyes. “I’m done. I’m done with it all.”


“They put us in prison, Steve! Our friends put us in prison! No trial, no lawyers… Straight from the airport, in unmarked black vans, to some secret government dumping ground in the middle of the ocean. Vision held Wanda as they were putting the shock collar on her. Natasha forced me to the ground, for them to handcuff me.” 

Steve can’t bear to see you cry, and tries to pull you into a hug, but you push his arms away. “Y/N, it’ll be okay. I promise you. Everything will be okay.” But you shake your head. He sighs, then reaches into a pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. “If you need me, for anything, call. Straight away, don’t wait.”

You look at the paper, the number written in Steve’s familiar, comforting, and old-fashioned cursive. “On one condition. That you don’t ever, for any reason, give that number to one of them.”


Felice Rix-Ueno Textile Designs

The Wiener Werkstätte, or the Vienna Workshop, thrived from 1903 to 1932 as an artists’ cooperative, creating everyday objects with an emphasis on quality design. Taking inspiration from the Vienna Secession, the group was founded by architect Josef Hoffmann, designer and painter Koloman Moser, and patron Fritz Waerndorfer. It grew into a community of artisans who designed and produced furniture, textiles, apparel, porcelain, glass, postcards, and other useful but highly decorative objects for Vienna’s well-to-do.

Felice Rix-Ueno studied under Hoffmann. She later joined the Wiener Werkstätte and produced designs such as these for textiles, ceramics, glass, wood, and fashion. Economic and political conditions forced the workshop to close, and within a few years Rix-Ueno moved with her husband, architect Isaburo Ueno, to Kyoto, Japan. There Rix-Ueno became a professor at the Kyoto Municipal School of Art, where she would teach for more than a decade.


Read also on FFN

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Chapter: 1/? (ongoing), Words: 4625

Rating: K

Summary: “Well, Monsieur Noir, what brings you to our humble fabric store?” There was a teasing edge to the young woman’s voice and she was surprised to find it there, her natural reaction to the mysterious youth’s behaviour outplaying her initial intention to treat him with careful respect. / Victorian Age AU in which Marinette is a aspiring seamstress and Adrien a nobleman.

Characters // Pairing: Marinette Dupain-Cheng/Ladybug, Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir, Tikki, Plagg, Nino, Alya Césaire  // MariChat [and LadyNoir in later chapters]

Genre: Victorian Age AU, Romance, Humor

A.N.: Who would have thought that my contribution for MariChat to this fandom would look like this? XD

Anyways, dear @vanilla107, I’m happy to announce that I was your Secret Valentine. From your requests the Victorian Age AU one deemed the most intruging and unique, and so I started butting heads with my partner in crime and beta, @just-saoto and well… the plot had its own plan with us. XD

I’m a bit sorry that I was only able to finish the first chapter for VDay - because life hated me somehow - but I hope you like it and look forward to the chapters to come. You’ll also need to thank @just-saoto not only for her beta work on this story for her invaluable help at the times I got stuck during some conversational parts (bc MariChat is not exactly my fort of writing) she helped me out greatly (bc it’s totally her fort of writing, you should go to check her ‘Sleepwalking’ if you haven’t already). And even more, she is also already doing fanart to the story, the first piece will go online over the course of this day and there is more to come :3

The last thing to say is that amount of research I did for that fanfic is downright ridiculous. I dug myself through so many websites elaborating Victorian lifestyle, wages, job conditions, fashion and masquerade balls that it made my head spin and feel like I still don’t know enough. But nonetheless I took great efforts to be as historically correct as possible – with the small liberties I allowed myself to make that AU work for the two cuties. (And yes, of course there will be a masquerade XD). Next update will be in March :3



Keep reading


Stolen at birth from his mother’s touch, away from his father’s smile. Fashioned to fight. Conditioned to kill. Taught that hate is a skill. Nameless, faceless in the crowd. Tears off his shroud.


Running free. Filled with love hate could not drain. Shows empathy despite his pain. To give what he never had–compassion, protection, affection–he runs back into the crowd. Takes up his crown. Chooses to fight. Paragon of light.